


On the Inside

by Agent_Zap



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bodily Functions, Community: blindfold_spn, Desperation, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Other, Scat, Soulless Sam Winchester, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:50:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Zap/pseuds/Agent_Zap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original prompt:</p><p>"Sam/Dean, watersports, scat (desperation)<br/>Sam and dean are stuck in one of Crowley's tiny cells together for an extended period of time. No privacy and nowhere to go when nature calls. It doesn't bother soulless!Sam that much; Dean's a different story."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: None.
> 
> Disclaimer: No money. No rights.
> 
> Beta: chef_geekier, the one and only!

After an hour and a half, yelling and pacing back and forth in the tiny cell, Dean slumps down on the cot. It’s only a foot or so above the filthy floor, and he falls back against the wall before he can catch himself. Sam sits quiet and composed at the other end, straightbacked with his eyes closed and his arms folded on top of his knees. He’s been like that since they got thrown in here. Dean isn’t sure what went wrong – their plan was good, and they had Bobby and Cas for back-up. But somehow, Crowley must have known they were coming; it was only a matter of minutes from when they were surprised by his guards until they were locked up. Through the tiny window in the door, all Dean could see was other doors with tiny windows, from time to time with shadows moving behind them. But nobody’s been down here since the door closed. Not that Dean expected anything good to be waiting for them at Crowley’s hands, but the waiting is unnerving, and frankly, confusing. He expected to be higher on Crowley’s To Do list.

He’s given up figuring out Sam, as well. He knows the guy isn’t really his brother. Maybe his brother’s physical body – but Sam is definitely not back in the building. The mind behind his brother’s expressionless eyes these days, watching him like he’s an insect – it isn’t only not Sam, it isn’t even truly human. He knows this Sam lied when he said he didn’t feel _anything_ \- Dean can see his excitement about hunting, and his enjoyment of simple, physical pleasures. But there is nothing in this Sam’s world that can’t be replaced at a moment’s notice. He’s efficient and pragmatic – and ruthless. Dean isn’t sure what exactly _he_ means to this Sam… And he doesn’t really want to think too hard about it, either.

He sighs deeply, leans back and tries to rest against the wall…

In the morning, guards come with water and food. They don’t say a word, and neither does Sam. He just picks up his meal and starts eating. Dean stares at him, chewing methodically. Then he looks around the cell. He hasn’t thought about the cell not having any toilet, but he really needs to piss, and it doesn’t seem like the guards are gonna let them out for anything. He’d noticed the shallow gutter in the floor the day before, but hadn’t really given any thought to the fact that this was probably what counted for plumbing in this place. Oh well. It isn’t really like the smell can get any worse. He gets up, and standing astride the gutter with his back to Sam, he closes his eyes and relieves himself. Only when he’s done and turns back to the unappetizing break-fast, does he notice Sam’s scientist stare aimed at the fluid trickling down the groove and out of sight through a small hole in the wall. He shudders and sits back down.

Maybe he should have thought about the full range of purposes that small gutter in the middle of the room was intended for. He’s up again and pacing, trying to think of escape plans that don’t involve Cas or Bobby, who obviously aren’t around. Maybe, he’s also walking to take his mind off the dull ache in his abdomen. That’s when Sam gets up, pulls down his jeans and squats down with his back to the drain, taking a dump right there. Dean just stares, speachless. Sam finishes his business, then gets up and pisses on top of the pile, more or less flushing it out. Then he starts stretching and working out in the small cell, as well as is possible. Dean sits down and can’t believe what he’s just seen. This Sam is worse than Cas in his absolute disregard for personal boundaries. With a slightly feverish feeling, he vows to get out of this cell before shitting on the floor like an animal. Feverish, because watching Sam has caused his treacherous body to act sympathetically, and his ass is really spasming now to hold back against the pressure from his insides. He takes a deep breath and leans up against the wall, keeping his ass clenched tightly and silently watching Robo-Sam’s work-out. 

The next night, he doesn’t sleep much. He didn’t know it took such concentration to hold back, even if you weren’t sick or anything. Several times he ’s just about to give up, get up in the dark and just relieve the increasing cramping of his bowels. But somehow he just can’t bring himself to do it. It wouldn’t just be giving up, it would be like letting Robo-Sam _win_. To say that he had been right all along. He just can’t. So he lies awake instead and fights a sweaty and exhausting battle not to shit himself.

Next morning, yesterday’s occurrence is repeated. Dean feels rather light-headed and fuzzy around the edges. It occurs to him that they might not get out of here at all, but can’t really bring himself to care very much. His head is almost pleasantly preoccupied with the fascinating sensations in his bowels. It isn’t like he is suddenly going to find a way out of here that he hasn’t noticed before. Of course… If they aren’t getting out of here, that would mean that he would never, ever shit again. He wonders vaguely how long he can keep that up. Like a starving man watching somebody gnawing at a whole ham bone, his gaze follows Sam’s easy movements as he squats down on the floor. He doesn’t even notice Sam’s intense observation back, as his eyes focus on the dark shadows under Sam’s thighs, to catch a glimpse of the precious, free excretions, and his mouth almost water at the smell that wafts up. He wants to do the same with every molecule of his body. He can’t even tell where the pressure inside him begins or ends. It feels like the whole lower part of his torso is a boiler, filled with a scalding hot substance that just wants to explode.

As time passes, though, it’s like the heat inside stops boiling, and turns to a quieter and more controllable burning heaviness. It’s still present inside him all the time, but he no longer has to fight so hard to hold it inside. He isn’t sure how much time passes – he gets up relatively often to piss, because there isn’t room inside him for his bladder to fill up much, and when he goes, he can’t let go completely lest his rectum would interpret it as a go-ahead. A couple of times he has to squeeze off tightly and painfully mid-stream, to avoid filling his pants.

The highlight of the day becomes Sam’s morning ritual. And Dean completely loses count of the days. One morning, though, he wakes up to a different kind of pain. He gasps for breath as he feels like he is being stabbed through the gut. His eyes are swimming, but he recognizes Sam, bent over him. He is lifted up on his legs, and Sam starts walking him around the room. He can’t remember when he’s really been up the last time. Everything has gotten comfortably hazy lately. But now the pain is demanding his attention. It still feels like he is about to explode, except now the push is no longer on his asshole. He tries to relax, experimentally, but it doesn’t seem like anything would be moving down there. He pushes tentatively – still nothing. Suddenly he starts panicking. This is not how it was supposed to go. He feels tears run down his face. Sam stops walking him as he covers his face with his hands and whispers, voice almost gone,

’Please, help me!’

’Keep walking.’

Dean keeps walking. The jabbing in his abdomen starts moving around, and soon gas starts escaping. Sam holds him up against the wall and removes his jeans, then supports him down over the horrible gutter in the floor. The tears keep welling up as he strains and struggles, and slowly, slowly, is emptied; first of little hard pebbles that feel sharp and like granite tearing at his ass, then packed bricks that almost pull themselves out of his body by their own weight. All through it, Sam keeps him up, lets him lean against his chest and rest the backs of his thighs against his strong hands as he trembles with pushing. Somewhere in the middle of it all, it occurs to Dean that he should have been embarrassed. But for the life of him, he can’t remember why.

In the end, when his ass feels empty and gaping, Sam lifts him up and puts him down on the cot. Perhaps this Sam isn’t _all_ right. But he definitely knows how to survive. Maybe it’s okay to borrow a little of that. 

Sam is crouching next to the cot, looking at him.

’Lucky that you got better. We’ll be leaving tomorrow. I told Bobby to come for us after ten days. Our capture was a diversionary tactic while he and Cas arranged things. It’s been interesting to watch your reactions.’

He tips his head a bit on the side and smiles a curious and honestly appreciative smile.

’I would have been sorry to have to leave you behind.’

Dean smiles back and closes his eyes.

’I know.’


End file.
